C-NRLF 


THE  HEART  OF  LIFE 
By 

James  Buckham 


IN  MEMORIAM 
GEORGE  HOLMES  HOWISON 


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OATEN    STOP    SERIES 
VI 


THE   HEART 
OF  LIFE 

BY  JAMES  BVCKHAM 


BOSTON  COPELAND  AND  DAY 
MDCCCXCVII 


3 


COPYRIGHT    1897     BY    COPELAND    AND    DAY 


TO    MY   WIFE 

THIS    LITTLE    BOOK 

IS  LOVINGLY   INSCRIBED 


851157 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Out  of  the   City  i 

Old-Time  Days  2 

The   Music  of  the  Hounds  4 

The  Song  in  the  Storm  6 

Good-Night  to  the  World  7 

Summer  Rain  8 

The  Morning  Wind  8 

August  Twilight  10 

Where  the  Day  Begins  10 

A  Flower  n 

Bo-Peep    ,  12 

The  Squirrel's  Road  12 

In  Winter  Twilight  14 

Up  Garret  15 

The  Happy  Brook  17 

Rain  in  the  Woods  1 8 

Beginnings  1 9 

The  Rose  in  the  Wall  20 

Barefoothood  2 1 

The  Bells  of  Lynn  23 

Dolly  Gray  24 

The  Wakening  24 

The  Old  Spinnet  25 

Down  the  Lane  26 

Before  the  Flight  28 


CONTENTS 

Page 

A   Captive  Bird  29 

Daybreak  29 

Toboganning  3 1 

Blossoms  in  Age  3  i 

Hester  in  the  Garden  32 

Autumn  3  3 

In  Time  of  Youth  33 

A  Song  of  Rain  34. 

Inscription  for  a  Fountain  35 

An  August  Drive  36 

A  Song  of  Autumn  38 

The  Fountain  in  the  Rain  39 

The  Way  of  Love  41 

The  Pilgrim's  Song  42 

With  a  Calendar  43 

The  Song  of  the  Market-Place  44 

A  Child's  Thought  47 

The  Measure  of  Life  48 

Realization  48 

Love's  Measuring  49 

The  Dowager  49 

The   Cry  of  Humanity  51 

The  Figure- Head  52 

An  Old  Violin  53 

The  Twelfth  Gate  54 

The  Essential  Thing  55 

A  Child  of  To-day  56 

Truth  5  7 

iv 


CONTENTS 

Page 

The  Night- Watchman  57 

Smiting  the  Rock  58 

The  Dead  Brave  58 

Use  59 

The  Wind's  Way  60 

Can  I  Forget?  61 

The  Broken  Charge  6z 

Peace  64 

Nearer  and  Dearer  65 

The  Child's  Treasure  66 

Crisis  67 

The  Two  Flowers  68 

The  Universal  Love  68 

A  Thought  of  Heaven  69 

In  Memoriam  69 

The  Tribute  of  Silence  70 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 


THE    HEART    OF   LIFE 


O 


OUT'  OF'  THE    CITY 

UT  of  the  city,  how  blue  the  sky 
And  dreamy-deep,  like  a  maiden's  eye  ! 


Springs  the  grass  with  its  vivid  green  ; 
Darts  the  wing  with  its  April  sheen  j 

Purls  the  brook  o'  er  its  pebbled  bed  ; 
Nods  the  flow'r  with  its  spotless  head. 

Out  of  the  city,  how  the  breeze 
Lisps  and  laughs  in  the  tossing  trees, 

Cools  its  wings  in  the  crystal  lake, 
Borrows  odor  of  bloom  and  brake  ! 

Out  of  the  city's  smoke  and  soot 
Hasten  pilgrims  on  wing  and  foot  j 

Little  birds  from  the  parks  and  towers, 
Lads  and  lasses  to  gather  flowers. 

Where's  the  heart  that  can  answer  nay 
To  the  whispered   "Come!"   of  an  April 
day? 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

Gh,  the  longing  of  i;atare  born, 

To  ")r-L.^h  the  clew  and  to  breathe  the  morn, 

To  plunge  the  lips  in  some  gliding  brook, 
And  lie  full  length  in  a  sunny  nook  ! 

Happy  he  of  the  childlike  heart, 
Whom  nature  wins  with  her  artless  art  ; 

Who  fain  of  the  woodland  folk  would  be, 
And  speak  the  language  of  brook  and  tree. 


OLD-TIME    DAYS 

I    CAN  see  the  river  gliding,  as  it  used  to 
long  ago, 
Round  the   shoulder  of  the  meadow  where 

the  thick-set  willows  grow. 
I  can  hear  it   purl   and   ripple,    in   a  gentle 

lullaby, 

To  a  little  barefoot  dreamer  gazing  up  into 
the  sky. 

Yonder  lie  the  brown  old  farm-house, 
crown' d  with  chimney  huge  and  square, 

And  the  barn  beloved  of  swallows,  with  its 
weathercock  in  air. 


OLD-TIME   DAYS 

I  can  hear  the  river-music  blend  with  cow 
bells  from  the  hill, 

And  the  far-off  clang  and  rumble  of  the 
log-frame  in  the  mill. 

How  I  loved  to  lie  a-dreaming  in  the  deep 

and  quiet  grass, 
While    I    watched    the    ghosts   of  noonday 

through  the  fields  of  heaven  pass  ! 
I  was  happy  —  oh,   so  happy! — while   the 

purling  of  the  stream 
Seemed  to  weave  a  little  poem  for  the  music 

of  my  dream  ! 

Oh,  to  taste  once  more  the  pleasure  that  I 

knew  in  years  gone  by, 
When  my  heart  was  full  of  sunshine  as  the 

summer  morning  sky  ! 
Oh,  to  feel  that  out-door  gladness  when  the 

days  were  fresh  and  long, 
And  the  bluebird  climbed  to  heaven  on  the 

ladder  of  his  song  ! 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 


THE    MUSIC    OF    THE    HOUNDS 

OH  ARK  !  how  it  swells  on  the  clear 
morning  air, 
When  the  world  is  all  white  with  the  frost 

and  the  snow, 
And  away  o'er  the  hills  flies  the  fox  or  the 

hare, 
While    shoulder   to  shoulder  the  streaming 

dogs  go, 
All   hot   on  the  scent,   with  their  wrinkled 

necks  bent, 
And  their  dewlaps  a-swing,  and  their  ears 

sweeping  low. 

Now  lost  in  the  hollow,  now  loud  on  the 

hill; 
Now   sweeping,    like    faint    chime  of  bells, 

through  the  pines ; 
Now   veering,    and  nearing,   and  sending  a 

thrill 
To  the  heart  of  the  hunter,   who  watchful 

reclines, 

With  rifle  held  low,  and  with  elbow  in  snow, 
By  the  broken  stone  wall  with  its  tangle  of 

vines. 


THE    MUSIC    OF    THE    HOUNDS 

A  shot,  and  a  shout  !  But  the  quarry  swings 

'round. 
Mark  yon  !     Like  the  wind  it  is  climbing 

the  slope, 
And  the  hounds,  hot  and  baffled,  are  nosing 

the  ground, 
And  crying  lost  scent,  like  a  soul  without 

hope. 
But  hear  that  wild  strain  !  They  have  found 

it  again, 
And  all  in  a  bunch  up  the  hillside  they  lope. 

Away  and  away  goes  the  music  divine, 
As  clear  as  a  bugle,  as  sweet  as  a  flute. 
It  leaps  in  my  blood  like  the  madness  of 

wine, 

It  rouses  my  soul  with  the  rage  of  pursuit. 
O  hounds  in  full  tongue  !     How  the  stale 

world  grows  young 
With  the  primitive  passion  that  throbs  in  the 

brute  ! 

Then    ho  !    for    the    field    when    December 

draws  on, 
And  twigs  of  the  wildwood  are  silvered  with 

frost. 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

Slip  leash  from  old  Bugler,  and  Trailer,  and 

Don, 
And  loose    the  hot  pack  where  the  quarry 

has  crost. 
A  blue  winter  sky,  with  the  hounds  in  full 

cry,  — 
They've    found    the    wild    pipes    that    the 

shepherd-god  lost  ! 


THE  SONG  IN   THE  STORM 

IT  rains,  but  on  a  dripping  bough 
A  little  bird  sings  clear  and  sweet,  — 
I  think  he  knows  not  why  nor  how, 
Except  that  with  his  slender  feet 
He  feels  dear  nature's  pulses  beat. 

The  wind  up-rising  stirs  the  tree, 
And  fast  with  silver  tears  it  weeps  ; 

The  little  bird  more  cheerily 

Pipes  with  his  tender  throat,  and  keeps 
His  faith  in  sunshine,  tho'  it  sleeps  ! 

There  swings  his  pretty  nest  below  j 
His  mate  sits  listening  to  his  song. 
'Tis  love  that  makes  her  bosom  glow, 
6 


GOOD-NIGHT    TO    THE    WORLD 

'Tis  love  that  whispers,  all  day  long, 
"  Sleep,    sleep,    my  nestlings,   and  grow 
strong  !  " 

Ah,  dreary  sky,  and  dripping  tree, 
And  wind  that  sobbest  in  the  wood, 

Know  well,  if  anywhere  love  be, 
She  hath  the  sunshine  in  her  hood  j 
For  everything  to  love  is  good  ! 


GOOD-NIGHT    TO    THE    WORLD 

THE  brook  is  unharnessed,  and  sleeps  by 
the  mill, 
The  curtains  are  drawn,  and  the  village  is 

still, 
The  last  star  is  lit,  and  the  whip-poor-wills 

call 

Good-night   to    the    world,   and    may  God 
bless  you  all  ! 

Nine  strikes  the  old  clock  at  the  head  of 

the  stair. 

I  put  off  my  clothes,  and  I  put  by  my  care. 
The  air  is  so  fragrant,  the  couch  is  so  white, — 
Sweet  world,  let  us  slumber  $  God  send  you 

good-night  ! 

7 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 


SUMMER  RAIN 

ASLANT,     the     driven     rain     incessant 
streams  $ 

The  thirsty  meadows  sigh  with  soft  delight  ; 
The  wind-blown  poplar  shifts  from  green  to 

white, 

And  white  to  green,  as  aimlessly  as  dreams. 
Down  leaps  the  torrent    from  the  gurgling 

spout, 
And  plunges,  foam-white,  in  the  cask.     The 

roof 
Resounds    with    hasty    drops,   like    hoof  on 

hoof 

Of  elfin  horsemen  —  a  wild,  cantering  rout  ! 
The  windows  stream  and  blur  the  world  with 

mist. 
Gray  Night  comes  creeping  early  from  the 

hills, 

Pallid  and  tearful,  like  a  child  unkissed, 
That  broods  upon  its  little  wrongs  and  ills. 

THE   MORNING  WIND 

HOW  it  smells  of  the  world  made  new, 
Ferny  glades  that  are  gemmed  with  dew, 
Meadow-soil  where  the  grass  stands  high, 


THE    MORNING    WIND 

Flowers  that  lift  to  the  sun  and  sky 
Cups  of  crimson,  and  white,  and  blue, 
Brimming-sweet  as  the  wind  goes  by  ! 

How  it  murmurs  among  the  trees, 
Full  of  peace  as  the  hum  of  bees  ! 
How  it  ripples  the  wayside  pool, 
Billows  the  lance-grass  thin  and  cool ; 
Rocks  the  swan  at  his  silver  ease, 
Sailing  free,  without  chart  or  rule! 

How  it  steals  from  the  sunrise-land, 
Soft  of  touch  as  a  mother's  hand  ; 
Soothing  the  fevered  brow  and  brain, 
Robbed  of  slumber  by  toil  or  pain  j 
Sweet  as  dew  to  the  desert  sand, 
Grateful  as  show'rs  of  summer  rain  ! 

Heart  of  the  Father,  deep  and  kind, 
Breathing  forth  in  the  morning  wind, 
Can  I  question  thy  love,  and  still 
Taste  the  air  on  the  sunrise-hill  ? 
Nay  !  in  the  very  breeze  I  find 
Throb  of  love  like  a  pulse1  s  thrill. 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 


AUGUST   TWILIGHT 

WITH    downward-pointing    horns    the 
ghostly  moon, 
Omen    of   drought,   hangs    midway    of  the 

west. 

The  hidden  locust  shrills  his  ancient  tune 
Of  dying  summer,  and  the  cricket's  din 
Sounds   colder,  as  if  frost  had   touched   his 

breast, 
And  strained  to  sharps  his  little  violin. 

From  tree  to  tree  the  katydid  disputes, 
And    the  shrill-sounding    locusts  rasp    their 

wings, 

And  tree-toads  with  their  hesitant  soft  flutes, 
Piping  low  queries,  list,  and  pipe  again. 
The  frost-fear  trembles  in  all  creature  things, 
And  every  voice  seems  prophecy  of  pain  ! 

WHERE   THE    DAY    BEGINS 

WHERE  does  the  day  begin  —  where 
may  it  be  ? 

Not  on  the  mountain-tops,  not  on  the  sea  ; 
Somewhere  beyond  them,  somewhere  before 

them, 
10 


A    FLOWER 

Shines  the  sweet  light,  ere  the  morning  breaks 

o'er  them, 

Peak  that  art  highest,  island  that  liest 
Farthest  away  in  the  purple-rimmed  sea, 
Where  does  the  day  begin,  —  where  may  it 

be? 

Out  of  the  bosom  of  God  comes  the  day,  — 
Flood  of  his  tenderness  nothing  can  stay  ; 
Love  that  up-springing  sets  the  world  sing 
ing, 

Steeples  a-shine  and  the  silver  bells  ringing. 
Infinite  motion  of  infinite  ocean, 
Light  but  the  symbol  that  broadens  for  aye, 
Out  of  the  bosom  of  God  comes  the  day  ! 


A    FLOWER 

HOW  beautiful  is  a  flower  ! 
It  is  like  the  soul  of  a  child 
Set  free  and  growing  wild 
In  the  sunshine  and  the  shower. 

So  fragrant,  so  fair,  so  true  ! 
Of  the  spirit's  texture  spun, 
It  smiles  with  the  smiling  sun, 
And  it  weeps  with  the  weeping  dew. 

ii 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

God  loves  it  —  and  why  not  we  ? 
'Tis  a  face  with  a  soul  a-shine, 
'Tis  a  thought  of  the  mind  Divine, 
'Tis  a  hint  of  the  life  to  be. 


BO-PEEP 

LITTLE  Bo-peep  !  ah,  where  away 
Leads    she    her    sheep,    this    summer 
day? 

Somewhere  the  shy  little  maid  must  be  — 
She's  so  nut-brown  real  to  you  and  to  me  ! 


THE    SQUIRREL'S    ROAD 

IT  zigzags  through  the  pastures  brown, 
And  climbs  old  Pine  Hill  to  its  crown, 
With  many  a  broken  stake  and  rail, 
And  gaps  where  beds  of  ivy  trail. 
In  hollows  of  its  mossy  top 
The  pine-cone  and  the  acorn  drop  j 
While,  here  and  there,  aloft  is  seen 
A  timid,  waving  plume  of  green, 
Where  some  shy  seed  has  taken  hold 
With  slender  roots  in  moss  and  mold. 

12 


THE    SQUIRREL'S    ROAD 

The  squirrel,  on  his  frequent  trips 
With  corn  and  mast  between  his  lips, 
Glides  in  and  out  from  rail  to  rail, 
With  ears  erect  and  flashing  tail. 
Sometimes  he  stops,  his  spoil  laid  by, 
To  frisk  and  chatter  merrily, 
Or  wash  his  little  elfin  face, 
With  many  a  flirt  and  queer  grimace. 
Anon  he  scolds  a  passing  crow, 
Jerking  his  pert  tail  to  and  fro, 
Or  scurries  like  a  frightened  thief 
At  shadow  of  a  falling  leaf. 
All  day  along  his  fence-top  road 
He  bears  his  harvest,  load  by  load  ; 
The  acorn  with  its  little  hat  5 
The  butternut,  egg-shaped  and  fat  j 
The  farmer's  corn  from  shock  and  wain  ; 
Cheek-pouches-full  of  mealy  grain  ; 
Three-cornered  beechnuts,  thin  of  shell  j 
The  chestnut,  burred  and  armored  well ; 
And  walnuts,  with  their  tight  green  coats 
Close  buttoned  round  their  slender  throats. 

A  busy  little  workman  he, 
Who  loves  his  task,  yet  labors  free, 
Stops,  when  he  wills,  to  frisk  and  bark, 
And  never  drudges  after  dark  ! 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

I  love  to  hear  his  chirring  cry, 
When  rosy  sunrise  stains  the  sky, 
And  see  him  flashing  to  his  toil, 
While  frost  like  snow  encrusts  the  soil. 
With  tail  above  his  back,  he  sails 
Along  the  angles  of  the  rails, 
Content  to  gain  two  rods  in  three, 
And  have  sure  highway  from  his  tree. 

Dear  is  the  old-time  squirrel-way, 
With  mosses  green  and  lichens  gray,  — 
The  straggling  fence,  that  girds  the  hill, 
And  wanders  through  the  pine  woods  still. 
I  loved  it  in  my  boyhood  time, 
I  love  it  in  my  manhood's  prime. 
Would  in  the  corn-field  I  could  lie, 
And  watch  the  squirrels  zigzag  by  ! 

IN    WINTER   TWILIGHT 

BITTER  and  bleak  is  the  closing  day. 
The  wind  goes  wailing,  the  sky  is  gray, 
And  there's  never  a  bird  on  bough  or  spray. 
Alas,  how  dreary  ! 

But  summer  will  surely  come  again. 

The  earth  needs  snow,  and  cold,  and  rain, 

Just  as  our  hearts  need  grief  and  pain. 

And  so  be  cheery  ! 
14 


UP    GARRET 


UP  GARRET 

WHAT  a  world  of  fun  we  had, 
You  a  lass  and  I  a  lad, 

Up  garret  ! 

In  the  sweet  mysterious  dusk, 
Redolent  of  mint  and  musk, 
With  the  herbs  strung  overhead, 
And  the  "peppers"  stiff  and  red, 
And,  half-hid  by  dangling  coin, 
Grandpa1  s  flask  and  powder-horn  ! 


Such  a  store  of  treasures  rare 
We  were  sure  of  finding  there, 

Up  garret  ! 

Hats  and  coats  of  pattern  quaint ; 
Dark  old  paintings  blurred  and  faint ; 
Spinning-wheels,  whose  gossip-whir 
Might  have  startled  Aaron  Burr  ; 
Old  lace  caps  of  saffron  hue  ; 
Dishes  splashed  with  villas  blue. 

You  in  trailing  silk  were  dressed, 
I  wore  grandpa's  figured  vest, 

Up  garret. 

So  we  stood  up,  hushed  and  grand, 
And  were  married,  hand  in  hand, 

15 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

While  the  tall-cased  clock  beheld, 
As  it  doubtless  did  of  eld, 
When  at  great-grandfather's  side 
Stood  his  blushing  Quaker  bride. 

Furnished  ready  to  our  hand 
Was  the  cozy  home  we  planned, 

Up  garret. 

Chairs  that  any  modern  belle 
Would  pronounce  "  antique  and  swell 
Chests  and  dressers  that  would  vie 
With  the  grandest  you  could  buy. 
Ah  !  they  didn't  know  it  then, 
Save  the  little  maids  and  men. 

All  day  long  in  childish  wise 
We  spun  out  life's  mysteries, 

Up  garret, 

In  the  fragrant,  spicy  gloom 
Of  that  dear  old  raftered  room. 
Oh,  that  life  in  very  truth 
Were  but  sweet,  protracted  youth, 
And  we  all  might  play  our  parts 
With  unwearied,  happy  hearts  ! 


16 


THE    HAPPY   BROOK 


THE    HAPPY    BROOK 

SPARKLING    down    the    hillside,   clear 
and  cool  and  sweet, 
Singing  in  the  shadows  where  the  branches 

meet, 
Laughing,  dancing,  whirling,  in  each  pebbly 

nook, 

What   a    merry    fellow    is    the    mountain 
brook  ! 

What  a  helpful  spirit  in  his  cheery  tones  ! 
How  he  makes  sweet  music  out  of  fretful 

stones  ! 

Be  it  morn  or  midnight,  be  it  dark  or  bright, 
Still  his  song  is  ever  of  his  heart's  delight. 

Thou,   who  growest  doubtful    of  the  great 

world's  good, 

Seek  this  little  preacher  in  the  leafy  wood  ; 
Catch    his    cheerful    spirit,   learn    his  merry 

song; 
So  shalt  thou  be  happy  as  the  day  is  long. 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 


RAIN  IN  THE  WOODS 

SILENCE  first,  with  gloom  overhead 
Not  a  stir  in  bush  or  tree  ; 
Woodfolk  all  to  coverts  fled  ; 
Dumb  the  gossip  chickadee. 

Then  a  little  rustling  sigh  ; 

Treetops  toss,  and  bushes  shake, 
And  a  silent  wave  goes  by 

In  the  feathered  fern  and  brake. 

Now  a  murmur,  growing  loud 
In  the  pine  tops  far  and  near ; 

And  the  woods  are  tossed  and  bowed, 
Like  a  soul  in  sudden  fear. 

Hark  !  the  music  of  the  rain 

On  a  thousand  leaky  roofs, 
Like  an  army  o'er  a  plain 

Galloping  with  silver  hoofs  ! 

Patter,  patter,  on  the  ground, 

Rustle,  rustle  in  the  trees  ; 
And  the  beaded  bushes  round 

Drip  when  shaken  by  the  breeze. 


BEGINNINGS 

Ah  !  if  you  would  nature  know 
Close  and  true  in  all  her  moods, 

Flee  not  from  the  show'r,  but  go 
Hear  the  raindrops  in  the  woods  ! 


BEGINNINGS 

O   MIGHTY,     mighty    river,     flowing 
down  so  deep  and  calm, 
With  the  mills   upon   thy  fingers,    and  the 
ships  upon  thy  palm  ! 

Tell  me  why  thou  never  failest,  never  grow- 

est  weak  and  small, 
But  with  ever-swelling  current  bringest  down 

thy  wealth  to  all  ? 

Quickly  then  the  river  answered  :    "  Praise 

the  little  mountain  spring, 
Ever  sparkling,  ever  gushing,  for  the  precious 

gifts  I  bring. 

"  Far   away   among  the  forests,   where  the 

moss  lies  deep  and  cool, 
There  the  mill  hums  in  a  crevice,  and  the 

ship  swims  in  a  pool  ! ' ' 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 


THE    ROSE    IN    THE    WALL 

A   MOSS-GROWN    wall    of    a    ruined 
house, 

Deep  in  tangle  of  weed  and  thorn, 
Undermined  by  the  mole  and  mouse,  — 
Creviced  crib  for  the  squirrel's  corn. 

In  the  wall,  like  a  patch  of  sun, 

Disk  of  a  wild  rose  blooming  bright  j 

Petals  soft  as  a  baby' s  cheek, 

Sweet  as  love  when  its  doubt  is  done  ; 

Heart  of  it  seeming  to  burn  and  speak, 

Running  over  with  first  delight. 

See  how  it  nods  in  the  summer  wind, 

Turns  its  face  to  the  north  and  south, 

Kissing  all  with  its  little  mouth, 

All  so  sweet  to  its  own  sweet  mind  ! 

See  how  it  dips  to  the  earth  and  sky, 

Loving  both,  though  it  scarce  knows  why  ! 

Fresh  young  flower  in  the  ruin's  heart, 
New-born  child  in  the  arms  of  age, 
Nature's  hint  of  a  truth  thou  art,  — 
Poem  writ  on  a  wayside  page. 
Ever  and  ever,  as  long  as  love 
Spins  the  wheel  of  the  rolling  world, 


BAREFOOTHOOD 

Out  of  the  bosom  of  age  and  death, 
Bud  and  blossom  and  leaf  uncurled, 
Child  of  the  earth  and  the  sun  above, 
Life  shall  bloom  like  a  dewy  flower, 
Fresh  fore'er  in  the  Father's  bower. 
Ever  and  ever,  as  long  as  God 
Bringeth  good  out  of  pain  and  loss, 
In  the  mold  of  the  leaf-strewn  sod, 
In  the  wall  that  is  dank  with  moss,  — 
Perished  hopes  that  we  fain  would  hide,  — 
Sweetly  still  shall  the  wild  rose  bide. 
Ah  !   the  promise  will  sure  befall. 
Some  time,  over  the  ruined  wall, 
Over  decay,  and  death,  and  all 
Hopes  and  dreams  that  have  failed  and  died, 
When  the  wind  of  his  purpose  blows, 
God  shall  waken  a  sweet  new  rose  ! 

BAREFOOTHOOD 

HOW  the  mornings  used  to  rise 
Just  like  music  in  the  skies  ! 
How  the  first  breath  of  the  day 
Smelled  like  paradise  in  May, 
And  you  couldn't  stay  in  bed 
For  the  bird-songs  overhead  ! 
Ah  !  how  sweet  life  was  and  good, 
In  the  days  of  Barefoothood  ! 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

Not  a  trouble  nor  a  care 
In  the  whole  world  anywhere  ! 
Just  as  light  and  gay  and  free 
As  a  bird  that  tops  a  tree  j 
Just  as  pure  from  wilful  wrong  j 
Just  as  full  of  grateful  song. 
Not  a  warbler  in  the  wood 
Praises  God  like  Barefoothood  ! 

Simple  joys,  and  yet  how  sweet  !  — 
Just  the  pools  that  laved  your  feet  ; 
Just  the  mud  between  your  toes  ; 
Just  the  wild  fruit  where  it  grows  ; 
Just  the  home-made  line  and  hook  ; 
Just  the  cool  plunge  in  the  brook  ; 
Such  as  these  were  drink  and  food, 
In  the  days  of  Barefoothood  ! 

Oh,  the  soft,  cool  morning  dew, 
Ere  the  days  of  sock  or  shoe  ! 
Oh,  the  showering,  as  you  pass, 
Of  the  sparkling  spears  of  grass  ! 
Miles  and  miles  of  cobweb-lace, 
Morning  freshness  on  your  face,  — 
Who'd  forget  them,  if  he  could, 
Dear  old  days  of  Barefoothood  ! 


THE    BELLS    OF    LYNN 


THE    BELLS    OF    LYNN 

THE    night    is   falling  ;  the  north    wind 
blows, 

It  bitterly  blows  over  marsh  and  lea  ; 
The  fisher's  boat  tosses,  the  ebb-tide  flows, 
And  the  curlew  tilts  in  the  spume  of  the 
sea. 

But  far,  and  faint,  and  sweet,  and  thin, 
Oh,  hear  the  bells  from  the  gray  old  town, 

The  ancient,  red-roofed  city  of  Lynn, 

That    lies  where  the  winding  hills  come 
down  ! 

As  oft  as  the  bitter  winds  are  blown, 

The   smiting    winds,  from    the    fields    of 

snow, 
So  often  the  bells  of  Lynn  float  down 

To    the  dunes    and    the    desolate    wastes 
below. 

As  oft  as  the  human  heart  is  torn 

By  the  pain  of  loss,  by  the  strife  with  sin, 
So  oft  are  the  bells  of  heaven  borne 

O'er  the  sobbing  wastes,  like  the  bells  of 
Lynn. 

23 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 


DOLLY   GRAY 

9^  I^WAS  a  winding  woodland  way 
A   Where  I  met  you,  Dolly  Gray, 
And  you  passed  me  with  a  glance 
Of  your  hazel  eyes  askance. 
But  you  never  blushed  nor  turned, 
While  the  heart  within  me  burned. 
Oh  !  you  knew  not  how  I  yearned, 
Dolly  Gray  ! 

Just  a  year  ago  to-day, 
Since  I  met  you,  Dolly  Gray ; 
And  the  slightest  word  I  speak 
Paints  a  rose  upon  your  cheek, 
As  we  wander  'neath  the  shade 
Of  the  winding  woodland  glade. 
What  a  change  a  year  has  made, 
Dolly  Gray  ! 

THE    WAKENING 

HOW  leaps  my   winter-weary  heart   to 
see 

The  first  blush  in  the  maple-tree, 
Or  hear,  far-off,  on  some  dull,  sodden  day, 
The  robin's  hopeful  roundelay  ! 
24 


THE    OLD    SPINET 

No  rose  that  blooms  to  me  so  sweetly  smells 
As  the  March  odor  of  the  dells, 
The  loamy  fragrance  of  the  farmer's  field, 
By  April's  alchemy  unsealed. 

Oh  !  it  is  good  to  be  alive  in  spring, 
And  share  the  brown  earth's  wakening  ; 
To  feel  the  thrill  of  primitive  delight 
In  all  that's  new-born,  fresh,  and  bright  ! 


THE    OLD    SPINET 

IT  is  slim  and  trim  and  spare, 
Like  the  slender  Lady  Claire 
In  the  gowns  they  used  to  wear, 

Long  ago  5 

And  it  stands  there  in  the  gloom 
Of  the  gabled  attic  room, 
Like  a  ghost  whose  vacant  tomb 
None  may  know. 

I  can  see  the  lady's  hands, 
White  as  lilies,  as  she  stands 
Strumming  fragments  of  Durand's 

On  the  keys  j 
And  I  hear  the  thin,  sweet  strain 


THE    HEART    OF   LIFE 

Of  the  Plymouth  hymns  again, 
Like  the  sob  of  windless  rain 
In  the  trees. 

She  would  play  the  minuet 
For  the  stately-stepping  set, 
While  the  ardent  dancers  met, 

Hands  and  hearts  j 
Did  the  old-time  spinet  care, 
If  Dan  Cupid  unaware 
Pricked  the  breasts  of  brave  and  fair 

With  his  darts  ? 

Now  the  spiders  with  their  floss 
Up  and  down  the  keyboard  cross, 
And  the  strings  are  dull  as  dross, 

Once  so  bright. 

No  one  cares  to  touch  the  keys,  — 
Stain1  d  old  yellow  ivories,  — 
Save  the  ghosts  some  dreamer  sees 

In  the  night. 

DOWN    THE    LANE 

DOWN  the  lane,  oh  !  down  the  lane,  in 
the  days  of  long  ago, 
How  the  lilacs,  white  and  purple,   and  the 

hawthorn  used  to  blow  ; 
26 


DOWN    THE   LANE 

And  the  dandelions,  hiding  in  the  matted, 

velvet  grass, 
Seemed  like  little  pools  of  sunshine,   fit  to 

splash  in  as  you  pass. 

Oh  !  the  summer  morns  and  evenings,  when 

the  lazy,  lowing  cows 
Let  you  dream  your  boyish  daydreams,  while 

they  idly  stopped  to  browse. 
What   a   low,  mysterious   music   in  the  elm 

trees  overhead,  — 
Till  the  oriole  translated,  and  you  knew  just 

what  they  said. 

Underneath  the  arch  of  verdure  you  could 

see  the  distant  hills, 
And  the  lake  that  lapped  their  bases,  and 

the  smoking  iron-mills  5 
And  your  dream,  perhaps,  changed  swiftly 

from  the  bird -song  and  the  sky 
To  the  money-making  city,  and  the  boy  of 

by-and-by. 

But   I  know,  the  whole  world  over,  where- 

soe'er  a  heart  beats  true, 
That  the  man  you  dreamed  of  being,  always 

dreams  of  being  you. 

27 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

Oh  !  how  glad  he'd  be  to  empty  all  his  gold- 
bags  in  the  lane, 

If  they'd  bring  the  dandelions  and  the  boy- 
heart  back  again. 


BEFORE    THE    FLIGHT 

TOST     by    the    wind    on    the     topmost 
spray, 

Blue  of  the  wing  against  blue  of  the  sky, 
Poising  bird,  that  could' st  spring  and  fly, 
What  to  the  tree-top  holds  thee,  say, 
Clinging  there,  while  the  wind  goes  by  ? 

Very  joy  of  the  power  of  flight, 
Very  thrill  of  the  folded  wing ! 
Now  —  now  —  now  I  will  forthward 

spring,  — 

Nay,  but  now  !  Oh,  the  rare  delight ', 
Just  to  poise  on  a  spray  and  sing ! 

Sweet  withholding  of  sure  and  best, 
Pause  and  sigh  ere  the  spicy  draught, 
Full,  and  utter,  and  deep,  is  quaffed,  — 
Oh,  the  joy  of  it  !   have  I  guessed  ? 
Art  thou  skilled  in  this  subtle  craft  ? 

28 


DAYBREAK 


A    CAPTIVE    BIRD 

NO  more  to  dip  and  glide 
In  the  sunlit  depths  and  spaces  wide  ! 
No  more  on  nodding  spray 
To  toss  and  sing,  all  the  summer  day  ! 

Poor  little  prisoned  thing, 

With  skies  shut  up  in  thy  folded  wing, 

Meet  is  thy  broken  song  — 

How  sweet  life  was,  ere  it  went  so  wrong  ! 

DAYBREAK 

DAYBREAK  !  daybreak  !  bright  grows 
the  east  at  last ; 

Bells  ringing,  birds  singing,  sun  in  the  dew- 
drop  glassed  j 
Leaves   shaking,    kine   waking,    soft   sounds 

from   field  and  wood  — 
Look  up,  my  weary  heart  !   morn's  here,  and 
God  is  good  ! 

New   skies   and   blue    skies  —  cheer,   heart  ! 

another  day 
Lights  on  the  changing  world.     Up  !  strive  ! 

whilst  strive  thou  may. 

29 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

What  though  the  past  went  wrong  ?     What 

though  the  night  were  long  ? 
Wake,  wake,  my  weary  heart  !   new  be  thy 

hope  and  song. 

Daybreak  !  daybreak  !  Thank  God  for  veil 
ing  night, 

Sleep's  sweet  forgetfulness,  setting  the  sad 
world  right. 

Thank  God  for  birds  and  bells;  "Cheer! 
cheer  !  "  they  seem  to  say. 

"  All  that  is  past,  is  past  ;  life  is  newborn 
each  day." 

Sparkle  of  beamy  dew,  deep  skies  so  clear 

and  blue, 
God  smiling  on  the  world,  light  me  to  labor 

true  ! 
Help  me  to  strive  with  zeal,  —  strive,  though 

my  star  go  down,  — 
Sure  that,  while  mornings  rise,  some  day  my 

task  shall  crown. 


BLOSSOMS    IN    AGE 


TOBOGGANING 

WITH  tip  curled  like  a  withered  leaf 
Down  sliding  when  the  days  are  chili, 
My  light  toboggan  skims  the  snow 
That  crusts  the  forest-bordered  hill. 


I  gasp,  as  from  the  hilltop  bare 
We  launch  like  eagle  from  a  cliff, 
And  plunge  a  thousand  feet  in  air. 

But  she,  my  sport-mate,  drinks  the  gale 
In  careless,  rosy,  wild  delight. 

To-morrow  is  her  wedding-day, 

And  all  the  world  is  drest  in  white  ! 


BLOSSOMS    IN    AGE 

YON  is  an  apple-tree, 
Joints  all  shrunk  like  an  old  man's  knee, 
Gaping  trunk  half  eaten  away, 
Crumbling  visibly  day  by  day  ; 
Branches  dead,  or  dying  fast, 
Topmost  limb  like  a  splintered  mast. 
Yet  behold,  in  the  prime  of  May, 
How  it  blooms  in  the  sweet  old  way  ! 

31 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

Heart  of  it  brave  and  warm, 
Spite  of  many  a  wintry  storm, 
Throbbing  still  with  the  deep  desire, 
Burning  still  with  the  eager  fire, 
Striving  still  with  the  zeal  and  truth 
Of  the  gladsome  morning  days  of  youth. 
Still  to  do  and  to  be,  forsooth, 
Something  worthy  of  Him  whose  care 
Summer  or  winter  failed  it  ne'er  j  — 
This  is  motive  for  you  and  me, 
When  we  grow  old  like  the  apple-tree. 

HESTER    IN    THE    GARDEN 

FRINGED  with  stately  gentian  stalks, 
Cut  in  strips  by  narrow  walks, 
Mistress  Hester's  garden  lies, 
Prim  as  Quaker  paradise. 

Not  a  blossom  pert  and  gay  ! 
Sober  phlox  and  caraway, 
Modest  violet  and  pea, 
Keep  Miss  Hester  company. 

Morn  and  eve,  in  soft  gray  gown, 
Walks  she  slowly  up  and  down, 
With  her  eyes  upon  the  page 
Of  some  quaint  old  saint  and  sage. 
3* 


IN    TIME    OF    YOUTH 

What  a  picture  (did  she  know) 
Of  the  simple  Long-ago  ! 
How  her  very  garments  stir 
With  the  scent  of  lavender  ! 


AUTUMN 

THE  crimson  ivy  veins  the  stone 
Of  chapel  walls,  and,  sere  and  brown, 
The  leaves  along  the  path  are  strewn, 
Or  through  the  still  air  flicker  down. 

The  sky  is  dim  and  dreamful  soft, 
The  hills  are  gray  with  veiling  haze, 

The  scant  brook  murmurs  through  the  croft, 
And  seems  to  sing  of  other  days. 

Good-by,  sweet  summer  !  and  good-by, 
My  own  sad  spray  and  vanished  rose. 

I  care  not  now  how  soon  ye  lie 
Beneath  the  soft,  forgetful  snows. 

IN    TIME    OF   YOUTH 

WE  had  God's  sunshine  for  our  drink, 
And  all  the  things  of  earth  were  sweet. 
The  very  stars,  we  used  to  think, 
Were  candles  set  to  light  our  feet. 

33 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

To  ramble  through  the  whisp'ring  wood, 
To  lie  in  tents  of  bending  grass  — 

Oh  !  things  like  these  seemed  highest  good, 
When  you  and  I  were  lad  and  lass. 

I  would  the  spell  were  never  spent ; 

I  would  that  we  were  young  to-day, 
And  through  the  fields  a-singing  went, 

To  toss  and  tumble  in  the  hay  ! 

A    SONG    OF    RAIN 

THE  cuckoo  scurries  to  and  fro  j 
From  green  to  white  the  maples  blow  ; 
The  longed-for  rain  is  coming  ! 
Set  every  tub  beneath  its  spout, 
For  there'll  be  little  stirring  out, 
When  all  the  roofs  are  drumming. 

Forth  creeps  the  thirsty,  wrinkled  toad  ; 
The  dust  goes  whirling  down  the  road  ; 

The  slender  birches  shiver. 
Uncertain  little  flurries  break 
The  glassy  surface  of  the  lake, 

And  scud  across  the  river. 

Now  darker  grows  the  drifting  sky, 
And  robin,  with  a  startled  cry, 

Wheels  round  his  roofless  dwelling. 
34 


INSCRIPTION    FOR    A    FOUNTAIN 

The  trees  begin  to  toss  and  lash  ; 
Far  off  there  gleams  a  forked  flash, 
Followed  by  thunder's  swelling. 

Hark  !  'tis  the  rustle  of  the  drops 
Among  the  tossing  maple-tops, 

The  first  cool  dash  and  patter. 
The  air  grows  wondrous  soft  and  sweet 
With  smell  of  woods,  and  grass,  and  wheat, 

And  marshes  all  a-spatter. 

Now  thunders  down  the  mighty  flood, 
That  makes  the  road  a  creek  of  mud, 

And  sets  the  eaves  to  spouting. 
Hurrah  !     The  silver  ranks  have  come, 
With  tempest-fife,  and  thunder-drum, 

And  noisy  torrents  shouting  ! 

/INSCRIPTION    FOR    A    FOUNTAIN 

I   POUR  perpetual  cups  as  sweet 
As  nature's  heart.     Come,  maidens,  bring 
Your  cool  brown  jars,  and  fill,  and  sing. 
Come,  lads,  your  true-loves,  haply,  meet. 
The  world  is  fair,  the  light  is  kind  ; 
Forever  will  I  leap,  and  laugh, 
And  kiss  the  happy  lips  that  quaff, 
And  toss  my  silver  on  the  wind. 

35 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 


AN    AUGUST    DRIVE 

DO    you    remember,    brown    eyes,    blue 
eyes, 

The  drive  we  took  to  Brandon  town, 
In  the  dreamy  haze  of  that  August  day, 
While  the  bells  of  clover  beside  the  way, 
So  sweet,  so  sweet,  tossed  up  and  down  ? 
Do  you  remember,  brown  eyes,  blue  eyes, 
The  drive  we  took  to  Brandon  town  ? 

All  about  us  the  air  was  a-swoon 

With    the    brimming    wine    of   midsummer 

noon, 

And  the  August  pipers  clear  and  shrill 
Sang  chirr,  chirr,  chirr,  like  a  shepherd's 

tune 

On  his  oaten  pipe,  from  the  greenwood  hill. 
The  sky  was  soft  with  a  silv'ry  mist  ; 
The  birds  in  the  leafy  groves  were  whist  ; 
W^ith    glint    and    gleam     ran    the    winding 

stream  ; 
And   the  woodbine   blushed  like   a   maiden 

kist. 

Neck  to  neck  ran  the  shining  bays, 
And  on  we  flew  by  cot  and  croft  j 
36 


AN    AUGUST    DRIVE 

The  hills  loomed  up  through  the  silver  haze  ; 
The  air  blew  sweet,  and  warm,  and  soft. 
Far  blazed  the  ranks  of  the  golden-rod  ; 
The  gentian  bloomed  by  the  mossy  wall  ; 
And   the    daisies,  white  as  the  thoughts  of 

God, 
Smiled  by  the  wayside,  the  fairest  of  all. 

Do  you  remember  the  river-road, 
O'er-arched  with  elms,  where  the  silent  tide 
Went  shining  and  slipping  along  beside 
The  banks  of  fern,  and  the  lilies  wide, 
Like  golden  cups,  in  the  water  glowed  ? 
Oh,  there  we  sang  to  the  lilting  string, 
To  the    river's  sweep,    and    the    elm-trees' 

swing. 

In  and  out,  by  nook  and  bend, 
We  swiftly  whirled,  till  the  steepled  town 
Out  of  its  hillside  grove  looked  down, 
And  our  drive  to  Brandon  was  at  an  end. 

But  oft  as  midsummer  comes  again, 

With  its   wealth  of  purple   and   white  and 

gold, 

Its  roadside  splendors,  its  ripening  grain, 
And  odors  drifting  from  field  and  wold, 
I  shall  think  of  that  drive  to  Brandon  town, 

37 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

With    the    eyes   of    blue   and    the   eyes    of 

brown  ; 

For  love's  sweet  longing  forever  haunts, 
And  the  wine  of  life  is  a  maiden's  glance. 


A    SONG    OF    AUTUMN 

HO  for  the  bending  sheaves, 
Ho  for  the  crimson  leaves 
Flaming  in  splendor  ! 
Season  of  ripened  gold, 
Plenty  in  crib  and  fold, 
Skies  with  a  depth  untold, 
Liquid  and  tender. 

Far,  like  the  smile  of  God, 
See  how  the  golden-rod 

Ripples  and  tosses  ! 
Yonder,  a  crimson  vine 
Trails  from  a  bearded  pine, 
Thin  as  a  thread  of  wine 

Staining  the  mosses. 

Bright  'neath  the  morning  blue 
Sparkles  the  frosted  dew, 

Gem-like  and  starry. 
Hark  how  the  partridge  cock 
38 


THE    FOUNTAIN    IN    THE    RAIN 


Pipes  to  his  scattered  flock, 
Mindful  how  swift  the  hawk 
Darts  on  his  quarry  ! 

Autumn  is  here  again  — 
Banners  on  hill  and  plain 

Blazing  and  flying. 
Hail  to  the  amber  morn, 
Hail  to  the  heaped-up  corn, 
Hail  to  the  hunter's  horn, 

Swelling  and  dying  ! 

THE    FOUNTAIN    IN    THE    RAIN 

IN  the  rain 
The  silver  fountain  leaps, 
And  scatters  its  drops  like  grain. 

Why  does  the  fountain  play 

In  the  throbbing  flood  of  the  mighty  rain, 

Beating  the  plain  ? 

Why  does  the  fountain  try 

To  equal  the  sky, 

While  the  storm  impetuous  sweeps, 

And  the  earth  is  full  of  the  mighty  deeps  r 

Tell  me,  why  does  the  soul 
Hope  and  strive  evermore, 

39 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

Baffled,  out-done,  forgotten,  full 

Of  the  pangs  and  failures  of  yore  ? 

Tell  me  why  unto  God 

It  lifts  up  its  face  again, 

Lifts  up  the  hands  that  failed  in  the  strife, 

Lifts  up  the  faded  garlands  of  life, 

Kisses  the  rod, 

Welcomes  the  pain, 

And  is  fain, 

Though  all  its  dreaming  is  o'er? 

So  shall  I  answer  thee 

Why  the  fountain  leaps  in  the  rain, 

Though  the  earth  is  full  of  the  sea. 


40 


WITH    MEN   AND    WOMEN 


THE    WAY    OF    LOVE 

I 

TO  one  came  woman's  love  unsought,  — 
The  captive  eye,  the  tender  thought, 
The  cheek  by  tyrant  blushes  caught. 

As  surely,  sweetly,  as  the  rose 
Lifts  up  its  face  and  sunward  blows, 
To  him  did  beauty's  heart  unclose. 

Oh,  his  to  love  by  royal  right  ! 

Oh,  his,  of  all  earth's  maidens  white, 

To  choose  the  priestess  of  delight  ! 

What  did  he  with  love's  magic  rod  ? 
He  smote  the  sweetest  flower  of  God, 
And  in  the  mire  its  whiteness  trod. 

II 

The  other  had  no  outward  grace  ; 

He  lacked  the  charm  of  form  and  face 

Which  youth  and  beauty  love  to  trace. 

But,  oh  !  throughout  him,  swift  and  sweet, 
To  very  tips  of  hands  and  feet, 
Great  heart  of  troth  and  yearning  beat. 

41 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

Divine  the  hunger  of  his  eye. 

"  O  God  !  to  love  before  one  die  !  " 

Sad  prayer,  that  never  knew  reply. 

Oh,    strange,    strange,   strange  !  —  yet  why 

arraign  ? 

All  wonders  else  in  earth  explain, 
But  set  no  laws  to  love's  rare  pain. 

THE    PILGRIM'S    SONG 

I  MET  a  pilgrim  on  the  way, 
And  thus  I  heard  him  sing,  and  say  : 
"  No  life  without  its  joy  and  pain, 
No  day  without  its  sun  and  rain, 
No  deed  without  its  loss  and  gain  ; 
So  let's  be  happy  while  we  may,  — 

Sing  hey  ! ' ' 
This  was  the  burden  of  his  lay. 

"  But  there's  a  difference,  be  sure," 

I  cried,  "  between  the  rich  and  poor  !  " 
The  pilgrim  smiled,  and  thus  he  spake  : 
"What  toils  and  cares  do  riches  make, 
And  then  what  sudden  wings  they  take  ! 

Nay,  gold  is  but  a  shining  lure,  — 
Sing  hey  !  " 

This  was  the  burden  of  his  lay. 

42 


WITH    A    CALENDAR 

"  And  yet,11  quoth  I,  "of  grief  and  care, 

Some  folk  a  double  portion  bear." 
"  Then  also  double  joy  !  "  cried  he  ; 
"  For  when  their  burdens  drop,  you  see, 
They  go  so  wondrous  light  and  free, 

It  seems  like  walking  on  the  air,  — 
Sing  hey  !  " 

Still  was  the  burden  of  his  lay. 


WITH   A    CALENDAR 

LO  !  these  unrisen  days, 
What  shall  they  bring  to  thee,  to  me  ? 
God  grant,  the  joy  of  kindred  ways, 
The  love  that  binds  and  yet  makes  free, 
The  piety  that  toils  and  prays. 

O  God  !  for  this  New  Year 

Of  sweet,  new  hope  we  thank  Thee.      Make 

Our  path  of  love  and  duty  clear. 

Watch  o'er  us,  sleeping  or  awake, 

And  draw  our  hearts  to  Thine  more  near. 


43 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 


THE    SONG     OF     THE     MARKET 
PLACE 

GAY  was  the  throng  that  poured  through 
the  streets  of  the  old  French  town  ; 
The  walls  with  bunting  streamed,  and  the 

flags  tossed  up  and  down. 
'•''Vive  I1  roil   Vive  troil^ —  the  shout  of 

the  people  rent  the  air, 

And  the  cannon  shook  and  roared,  and  the 
bells  were  all  a-blare. 

But,  crouched  by  St.  Peter's  fount,  a  beggar 

with  her  child, 
Weary,   and    faint,   and   starved,   with    eyes 

that  were  sad  and  wild, 
Gazed  on  the  passing  crowd,  and  cried,  as 

it  went  and  came  — 
"  Alms,    for    the    love    of   God  !    Pity,   in 

Jesu's  name  !  " 

Few  were  the  coins  that  fell  in  the  little  cup 

she  bore, 
But  she   looked  at  her  starving   babe,   and 

cried  from  her  heart  the  more  — 
"  Alms,  for  the   love  of  God  !   Mother  of 

Jesu,  hear  !  " 
44 


SONG    OF    THE   MARKET-PLACE 

The    steeples    shook    with    bells,    and    the 
prayer  was  drowned  in  a  cheer. 

But    see  !     through    the    thoughtless    crowd 

comes  one  with  a  regal  face, 
He  catches  the  beggar's  prayer,  and  turns 

with  a  gentle  grace  j 
"  Alms  thou  shalt  have,  poor  soul  !  —  Alas, 

not  a  sou  to  share  ! 
But  stay  !  "       And    he    doffs    his  hat    and 

stands  in  the  crowded  square. 

Then  from  his  heart  he  sang  a  little  song  of 

the  south, 
A    far-off  cradle  song,  that    fell    from  his 

mother's  mouth  ; 
And  the  din  was  hushed  in  the  square,  and 

the  people  stood  as  mute 
As  the  beasts  in  the  Thracian  wood,  when 

Orpheus  touched  his  lute. 

The  melting  tenor  ceased,  and  a  sob  from 

the  listeners  came. 
"Mario!""   cried  a  voice,  and  the  throng 

caught  up  the  name. 
"  Mario!"    and    the    coins    rained    like    a 

shower  of  gold, 

45 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

Till  the  singer's  hat  overflowed  like  Midas1 
chests  of  old. 

"  Sister,"  he  said,  and  turned  to  the  beggar 

crouching  there, 
"  Take    it ;    the  gold  is  thine  ;    Jesu    hath 

heard  thy  prayer  ;  ' ' 
Then    kissed    the    white-faced     child,    and 

smiling  went  his  way, 
Gladdened  with  loving  thoughts  and  the  joy 

of  holiday. 

That  night,  when  the  footlights  shone  on  the 
famous  tenor's  face, 

And  he  bowed  to  the  splendid  throng  with 
his  wonted  princely  grace, 

Cheer  after  cheer  went  up,  and,  stormed  at 
with  flowers,  he  stood 

Like  a  dark  and  noble  pine,  when  the  blos 
soms  blow  through  the  wood. 

Wilder  the  tumult  grew,  till  out  of  his  fine 

despair 
The  thought  of  the  beggar  rose,   and    the 

song  he  had  sung  in  the  square. 
Raising  his  hand,  he  smiled,  and  a  silence 

filled  the  place, 
46 


A    CHILD'S    THOUGHT 

While  he  sang  that  simple  air,  with  the  love- 
light  on  his  face. 

Wet  were  the  singer's  cheeks,  when  the  last 

note  died  away  ; 
Brightest  of  all  his  bays,  the  wreath  that  he 

won  that  day  ! 
Sung  for  the  love  of  God,  sung  for  sweet 

pity's  sake, 
Song  of  the  market-place,  tribute  of  laurel 

take. 

A    CHILD'S    THOUGHT 

O   LARGE,   perplexed  eyes  ! 
What  thought  within  you  lies 

Beyond  all  reach  ? 
Some  truth  in  heaven  heard, 
That  finds  on  earth  no  word 
Can  give  it  speech  ? 

I  question,  —  but  in  vain  ! 
The  child's  a  child  again, 

On  toys  intent. 
Back  from  the  mystic  land, 
He  cannot  understand 

The  thing  I  meant. 


4-7 


THE    HEART   OF    LIFE 

And  yet  —  and  yet  I  know 
There  flashes  to  and  fro 

Across  his  soul 

Some  thought,  whereto  he  heeds  ; 
And  carts  and  wooden  steeds 

Forget  to  roll. 


THE    MEASURE    OF    LIFE 

TEN  years  a  gracious  Heaven  gives 
To  make  man  conscious  that  he  lives. 

Then  twenty  years  of  ardors  sweet, 
And  hopes  that  dance  with  winged  feet. 

Another  score  to  strive  and  weep, 

And  bind  youth's  dreams  with  gyves  of  sleep. 

And  last  the  harvest-twenty  come. 
Reap,  bind,  and  take  the  pathway  home. 


REALIZATION 

SOMETIMES   there  comes  a  taste  sur 
passing  sweet 
Of  common    things,  —  the    very    breath    I 

take  ; 
48 


THE   DOWAGER 

A  draught  from  some  cool  spring  amid  the 

brake  ; 
The  wheaten  crust  that  I  in  hunger  eat. 

So  I  have  thought  that  heaven,  perhaps,  is 

just 

The  uttermost  perception  of  all  good, 
The  spiritual  rapture  of  this  zest,  refined  ; 
An  exquisite  new  taste  of  friendship,  food, 
The  joys  of  love,  the  odors  in  the  wind, 
And  all  that  now  seems   deadened    by  our 

dust. 


I 


LOVFS  MEASURING 
SAID  in  my  doubting  heart, 
lt  Our  lives  are  set  oceans  apart." 


Then  Love  took  his  measuring-wand, 
And  lo  !  neither  sea  was  nor  land  ! 


THE   DOWAGER 

GIRLS  about  her  in  a  flock, 
Like  roses  round  a  hollyhock  ; 
Laughter,  motion,  gliding  grace, 
Youth's  fresh  lustre  in  a  face, 
All  the  things  that  sweetest  were  — 
Yonder  sits  the  dowager. 

49 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

Bravely  still  she  smiles,  indeed  ; 

Placid  in  her  cap  and  weed, 

Plies  the  lorgnette  left  and  right 

With  a  hand  still  lily-white. 

Ah  !  but  the  pinch' d  heart  of  her  — 

Poor  old  wistful  dowager  ! 

Once  for  her  the  starry  lights 
And  the  waltzes'  birdlike  flights  ; 
Once  a  bosom  all  a-throb, 
Sigh  of  rapture  like  a  sob  ; 
Wafts  of  violet  and  myrrh  — 
Poor  old  dreaming  dowager  ! 

Snow-whirl  of  white  drapery, 

Laces  like  the  wind-whipt  sea, 

Feet  that  mocked  the  swallow's  wing, 

Ever  lightly  vanishing  $ 

Heart  and  soul  with  joy  astir  — 

Such  was  once  the  dowager. 

Now  she  fain  remembers  all 
While  the  waltzes  rise  and  fall, 
And  the  subtle,  soft  perfume 
Hovers  ghostlike  in  the  room. 
Perished  hopes  and  fancies  stir  — 
Poor  old  wrinkled  dowager  ! 

5° 


THE    CRY    OF    HUMANITY 

Better  would  she  be,  I  trow, 

Where  the  quiet  hearth-coals  glow, 

And  the  seer's  lofty  page 

Rears  a  temple  fit  for  age. 

Nay  ?  —  her  moon-dead  youth  for  her  ? 

Frivolous  old  dowager  ! 


THE    CRY    OF    HUMANITY 

I 
"  TTARK  !  —  heard     you     wailing     of 

A  JL   voices, 

Yonder,  far  off,  in  the  night  ?  " 
*'  Nay,  'twas  the  wind  hoarsely  shouting, 

Tossing  the  pines  on  the  height." 

"  Stay  —  I  hear  treble  of  children, 
Tremulous,  piercing  with  pain.11 

*'  Peace  !  'tis  the  tribe  of  the  marshes, 
Pleading  with  heaven  for  rain." 

"  Nay  —  but  list  !  women  are  sobbing, 
Beating  their  breasts  as  they  moan." 

"  Hush  !   'tis  the  lake  in  the  valley, 
Pulsing  on  shingle  and  stone." 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

II 
Deep  in  the  soul  of  the  listener 

Voices  are  murmuring  still,  — 
Neither  the  waves',  nor  the  marshes', 

Nor  the  wild  wind's  on  the  hill. 

Deeper  his  spirit  is  harking  ; 

Under  the  symbol  and  sign, 
Hears  he  the  meaning  that  shapes  it,  - 

Thy  pleading,  brother,  and  mine  ! 

Up  from  the  world,  blindly  spinning, 

Rises  humanity's  cry. 
Nature  but  echoes  it  dumbly  — 

Hear  it,  O  Father  on  high  ! 


THE    FIGURE-HEAD 

SPHINX-LIKE,    she    tow'rs    above   the 
pier 

In  this  storm-sheltered  busy  stead, 
With  face  so  stern  and  cameo-clear  — 
The  carven  lady  figure-head. 

The  sea  is  crusted  on  her  hair  ; 

The   waves   have   stained    her    brow   and 

breast  ; 
5* 


AN    OLD    VIOLIN 

Her  eyes  —  the  storm  and  night  are  there, 
Defiance,  and  a  wild  unrest. 

Forthward  she  leans,  as  if  to  breast 

The  howling  tempest,  surge,  and  sleet  ; 

Her  wonted  path  the  midnight  wave, 
That  breaks  in  fire  about  her  feet. 

What  awful  depths  her  eyes  have  seen, 
And  lurking  monsters  of  the  vast  ; 

What  death' s-hair  in  the  waters  green, 
And  pale,  drowned  faces  floating  past  ! 

Alien  to  her  this  slimy  quay, 

The  reeking  harbor  dead  and  gray. 

Oh  for  the  broad  blue  sky  and  sea, 
The  glory  of  the  flying  spray  ! 


AN    OLD    VIOLIN 

BEHOLD    this  rare  Cremona  !     Master 
it, 
'Twill  sing  you  pure  as  angels.      But  to 

hands 

Unskilled,  'tis  but  for  mantel-rubbish  fit ; 
Old,  worth   so   much  5 — one   reads,  and 
understands  ! 

53 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

"Twas  wont  to  shake  men's  hearts,  as  when 

the  wind 

Sets  all  the  leaves  a-quiver.      Now  it  lies 
With  all  its  sweet  soul  laid  and  undivined  ; 
Priced  at  so    much  ;  —  a  soul   for    sale  ! 
Who  buys  ? 

One  says  'tis  scratched  and  ugly,    gumm'd 

and  stained  ; 
He    can    buy    handsomer    for  less.      No 

doubt  ! 

Another  spies  a  crack,  or  real,  or  feigned  ; 
A  third  notes  fraud,  —  is  pleased  to  point 
it  out. 

Ah,  well  !  endure,  thou  master's  child  ! 
Ev'n  so 

Are  noble  spirits  carped  at,  all  unknown, 
While  in  their  hearts  divinely  swell  and  flow 

Those  harmonies  that  genius  hears  alone. 


THE    TWELFTH    GATE 

HEAVEN  has  twelve  gates.      I  may  not 
enter  where 
The    white-robed  victors  march  from  cross 

and  pyre, 

Nor  yet  with  those  in  spotless  pure  attire, 
54 


THE    ESSENTIAL   THING 

Who  caught  no  taint  from  earth's  sin-laden 

air. 

I  may  not  come  with  those  who  bravely  bare 
The  crucifixion  of  their  life's  desire, 
Or  carried  all  their  days  embosomed  fire, 
Or  battled  with  a  black  and  fierce  despair. 

Nor  great,  nor  noble,  nor  enduring,  I  — 
No  martyr,  soldier,  or  enthusiast, 
But  one  whose  life,  in  peaceful  habit  fast, 
Reflects  God's  love  as  lakes  reflect  the  sky. 
O  God  !   may  I  behold  thy  face  at  last, 
Among  thy  children  who  lived  duteously. 


THE    ESSENTIAL    THING 

ALL  the  world's  writing,   sure,  is  but  a 
glass 
Wherein    each  mortal  sees   himself;  and 

ihough 

Before  ten  thousand  books  my  spirit  pass, 
Not  one  shall  change  me  from  the  thing  I 
know. 

Yet  in  the  great  I  Am  both  thou  and  I, 
Thinking     diversely    as     the     sunbeams 
shine, 

55 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

Find  our  eternal,  perfect  harmony, 
One  pattern  evermore  of  truth  divine. 

Therefore  I  preach  a  simple  faith,  and  say, 
Cover  with  love  our  widest  variance. 

Let  him  believe,  whose  idol  is  of  clay. 
All  else  is  only  mode  and  circumstance. 

A    CHILD    OF    TO-DAY 

O  CHILD,  had  I  thy  lease  of  time  ! 
Such  unimagined  things 
Are  waiting  for  that  soul  of  thine  to  spread 
its  untried  wings  ! 

Shalt  thou  not  speak  the  stars,  and   go   on 

journeys  thro'  the  sky  ? 
And  read  the  soul   of  man  as  clear   as   now 

we  read  the  eye  ? 

Who  knows  if  science  may  not  find  some 

art  to  make  thee  new  — 
To  mend  the  garments  of  thy    flesh    when 

thou  hast  worn  them  through  ? 

'Tis  fearful,  aye,  and  beautiful,  thy  future 

that  may  be. 
How  strange  !  —  perhaps  death's  conqueror 

sits  smiling  on  my  knee  ! 
56 


THE    NIGHT-WATCHMAN 

TRUTH 

'D  rather  be  a  violet,  and  be  blue, 
.  Than  be  a  man,  and  to  myself  untrue. 


THE    NIGHT-WATCHMAN 

EACH  night  I  ten  times  pace  my  wonted 
round, 

To  see  that  all  is  well.      At  first  the  air 
Stirs  with  the  throb  of  life  ;  then,  here  and 

there, 

The  cheery  lights  die  out  ;  without  a  sound, 
The  little  city  sleeps  from  bound  to  bound. 
I,  I  alone,  my  glancing  lantern  bear, 
And  watch  the  clouds  that  stream  like  hoary 

hair 
Across    the    stars,    and    walk    my     plot    of 

ground. 

Now,  just  before  the  dawn,  strange  throbs  of 

white 

Beat  upward  to  the  zenith,  and  the  sky 
Expands  and  quivers.     Then  with  awe  I  feel 
The  moving  of  God's  presence  in  the  night  5 
And  all  the  stars  like  spirits  seem  to  wheel 
Above  me  in  the  spaces  black  and  high. 


57 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 


SMITING   THE   ROCK 

SHALT  thou  not  smite  the  desert  rock 
too? 
Yea,  if  thou  wilt  —  if  thou  smite  the    rock 

through  ! 

Let  then  the  miracle  pass  at  its  worth  : 
Legend  or  gospel,  what  matters  ?     The  earth 
Hath  its  sweet  waters  deep  down.     If  the  rod 
Or  the  bar  bring  it  up,   what  matters  with 
God? 

Art  thou  not  prophet  nor  leader  ?  What 
then  ? 

Smite  !  Become  prophet  !  Thus  God  exalts 
men. 

Smite  first,  strive  first  ;  let  us  see  what  avails. 

'T  is  trying  succeeds,  'tis  refusal  that  fails. 

Delve  down,  if  thou  must,  through  the  flint 
iest  stuff. 

So  the  water  springs  forth,  thou  art  prophet 
enough  ! 

THE    DEAD    BRAVE 
OW   and  arrows  by  his  side, 
^Soft  and  tawny  panther's  hide, 
Food  for  journey  to  the  bound 
58 


USE 

Of  the  Happy  Hunting  Ground, 
So  they  laid  him  in  his  grave, 
Stern,  bronze,  silent  Indian  brave. 

Many  a  winter  spread  its  tent, 
Many  a  summer  came  and  went. 
Higher  than  the  squirrel's  home 
Rose  the  gleaming  spire  and  dome. 
And  above  those  savage  bones 
Modern  men  heaped  costly  stones. 

Then  the  fire-fiend  had  his  way. 
And  ('twas  only  yesterday), 
Delving  at  the  ruin's  heart, 
Back  I  saw  the  workmen  start, 
As  the  sleeping  warrior's  dust 
Crumbled  at  the  mattock's  thrust  ! 


USE 

HERE  in  the  world  is  a  place 
For  everything  God  has  wrought, 
From  the  flower,  with  its  wee  white  face, 
To  the  soul  that  can  think  God' s  thought. 

No  bird,  with  its  callow  breast, 
Is  loosed  from  the  shell  it  wore, 

59 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

But  finds  in  the  sheltering  nest 
God's  thought  of  it,  long  before. 

And  I,  —  of  so  little  worth 

That  I  seem  like  a  barren  vine,  — 
Shall  I  think  that  in  all  the  earth 

No  place  and  no  use  are  mine  ? 

Nay,  nay  !    Let  the  blade  of  grain  — 
One  more  in  the  crowded  sod, 

Yet  nourished  by  sun  and  rain  — 
Speak  a  truer  thought  of  God. 


THE    WIND'S    WAY 

THE  wind  of  God  swept  through  a  gar 
den  fair, 
And   stript    the  queenly  rose  of  half   its 

leaves. 

The  rose  of  roses  and  the  gardener's  care 
The  wind  of  God  made  bare, 
And  all  the  garden  grieves. 

O  wind  !   why  didst  thou  pass  the  pale  wild 

rose, 
That  swings  and  suns  against  the  outer 

wall, 
60 


CAN    I    FORGET 

To  take  the  fairest  of  the  flowery  close, 
The  sweetest  bud  that  blows, 
The  rose  beloved  of  all  ? 

Alas  !  the  wind's  way  is  a  strange,  wild  way, 
And  whence,  or  why,  or  whither,  who  can 

know  ? 

Unseen,  it  wanders  forth  both  night  and  day, 
And    who  shall  bid  it  stay, 
That  God  has  bidden  blow  ? 


CAN    I    FORGET? 

CAN   I  forget  ?     The  moon  was  forest- 
high, 

And  made  a  golden  path  above  the  trees. 
We  sat  us  down,  and  there  was  no  sound  nigh, 

Except  the  breeze. 

And  so  we  bode  in  silence,  inly  yearning  ; 
For  neither  knew,  nor  dared  love's  knowl 
edge  yet  5 

But  ever  unto  thine  my  face  was  turning  — 
Can  I  forget  ? 

Can  I  forget  ?     Ah,  Love,  'twas  but  a  word 
About  some  trivial  thing  that  broke  the 
spell  j 

61 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

But  what  thou  saidst,  Sweetheart,  and  what 
I  heard, 

I  may  not  tell. 
I  only  know  that  on  my  bosom  sinking, 

I  feel  that  sudden,  fragrant  burden  yet, 
And  of  thy  lips  my  lips  are  madly  drinking  — 
Can  I  forget  ? 

THE    BROKEN    CHARGE 
'ould  you  hear  of  the  bravest,  coolest 

deed 
Was  ever  inspired  by  a  nation's  need  ? 


W'deed 


Thomas  McBurney  —  Kansas-bred  Scot  — 
Lay  in  his  rifle-pit,  waiting  a  shot. 

Over  him  whistled  the  enemy's  balls, 
Ping —  and  they  sank  in  the  fortress  walls. 

Suddenly  out  of  the  woods  there  broke 
A  line  of  cavalry,  gray  as  smoke. 

A  troop  —  a  regiment  —  a  brigade  ! 
God  !  what  a  rush  and  a  roar  they  made  ! 

A  wild,  swift  charge  on  the  frail  redoubt, 

Carbines  ready  and  sabres  out. 

6z 


THE    BROKEN    CHARGE 

Hither  and  thither,  like  frightened  hares, 
Fled  the  sharpshooters  out  of  their  lairs. 

All  save  Thomas  McBurney.      He 
Thought  not  first  what  his  fate  might  be. 

Uppermost  thought  in  his  hero-soul, 
To  save  the  fortress  clean  and  whole  ! 

On  they  thundered,  the  cavalcade. 
McBurney  waited  j   his  plan  was  made. 

Fifty  yards  from  his  cairn  of  rocks  — 
Up  he  rose,  like  a  Jack-in-the-box. 

Bang !  —  and  the  leader' s  horse  went  down, 
Neck  outstretched  in  the  wire-grass  brown. 

Over  him  tumbled  a  dozen  more  ; 
And  the  colonel  —  his  heart  and  his  head 
were  sore  ! 

"  Halt  !  "  he  cried  ;  and  the  broken  line 
Stopt,  strung  out  like  a  trailing  vine. 

Lo  !  in  the  valley's  dim  expanse, 
Tossing  flags  and  bayonets'  glance  ! 

63 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

Reinforcements  !     At  double  quick 

They  cross  the  meadows  and  ford  the  creek  : 

Boys  in  blue,  with  their  banners  bright  — 
Just  in  season  to  turn  the  fight. 

Thomas  McBurney,  as  cool  as  you  please, 
Settled  down  on  his  dust-grimed  knees. 

To  pray  ?     Yes,  thankfully  !  and  to  run 
A  well-greased  cartridge  into  his  gun. 


PEACE 

THE  golden  age  of  peace  has  come  on 
earth  ! 
Lo,   in  the  blood-stained  fields    the  lilies 

bloom, 

And  softly  on  the  alien  soldier's  tomb 
Is  laid  the  wreath  that  owns  his  manly  worth. 
No  more,  thank  God  !  the  cannon  thunders 

forth, 

Or  sabre  flashes  in  the  smoke  and  gloom. 
Peace,  Peace  !  — for  snowy-mantled  Peace 

make  room, 
And  Love,  that  in  the   heart  of   God  had 

birth. 
64 


,      NEARER   AND    DEARER 

Henceforth  let  children  on  the  bastions  play, 
And  wild-flowers  blossom  in  the  cannon's 

throat. 
Let  every  banner  over  brothers  float  ; 

Let  bitter  memories  be  washed  away. 

Rise,  Star  of  Love,  on  every  land  to-day, 
And  bugles  blow  the  sweet  evangel  note  ! 

NEARER  AND  DEARER 

NEARER   and    dearer    are  the    blessed 
dead 

Than  we  are  wont  to  think, 
When  with  farewells  and  tears  we  bow  the 

head 
Beside  that  solemn  brink. 

Tell   me,  thou   child  of  grief —  canst  thou 
not  see 

With  clearer  eyes  than  then  ? 
Tell  me  if  love  —  thy  love  —  can  ever  be 

A  thing  of  earth  again  ? 

O  eyes  that  God  hath  cleansed  with  sacred 

tears  ; 

O  hearts  by  sorrow  tuned  ! 
Ye  see  and  love  as  never  all  those  years, 
While  ye  with  flesh  communed. 

65 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

And  are  they  not  then  nearer,  whom  we  see 

With  eyes  no  longer  blind  ? 
And  is  not  love  the  sweeter,  if  it  be 

Of  an  immortal  kind  ? 

Oh,  comforting,  sweet  thought  —  that  though 
we  stand 

On  death-divided  shores, 
Love  still  can  stretch  to  us  its  angel  hand, 

And  lay  its  heart  on  ours  ! 


THE    CHILD'S    TREASURE 

LITTLE  child  at  play, 
Sell  me  your  To-day  ! 
I  will  give  you  gold  — 
More  than  you  can  hold  ; 
Ships  with  silken  sails, 
Steeds  with  ribbon1  d  tails, 
Dolls  with  eyes  of  blue, 
Limpid  as  the  dew  ; 
Lambs  on  painted  wheels, 
To  trundle  at  your  heels  ; 
Blocks  for  houses  tall, 
Hoop,  and  kite,  and  ball, 
And  a  magic  silver  top 
That  will  spin  and  never  stop  ! 
66 


CRISIS 

Will  you  do  it?      "Yea! 
Cries  the  child  at  play. 
Oh  !   if  you  but  knew, 
Eager  eyes  of  blue, 
What  a  gift  divine 
You'd  exchange  for  mine 
Keep  it  —  it  is  worth 
More  than  all  the  earth  ! 


CRISIS 

AS  when  some  watcher  of  the  skies, 
Whom   many  sleepless  nights  have 

worn, 

Falls  prone  upon  his  bench,  and  lies 
Outstretched,  by  slumber  overborne  ; 

Meanwhile  some  splendid  argent  mass, 
For  ages  out  of  mortal  ken, 

Moves  slowly  o'er  his  object-glass, 
And  fades  away  in  space  again  : 

So  come  the  crises  of  our  lives 

When  least  foreseen.      In  sleep  we  lie 

What  time  the  pregnant  star  arrives 
That  makes,  or  mars,  our  destiny. 


67 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

THE    TWO    FLOWERS 

THERE  grow  in  the  garden  of  life 
Two  flowers,  our  souls  to  prove  — 
The  passionate  rose  of  Self, 
And  the  spotless  lily  of  Love. 

We  never  can  have  them  both  ; 

One  flower  for  each  of  us  blows. 
We  choose  the  lily  for  aye, 

Or  forever  we  choose  the  rose. 

THE    UNIVERSAL   LOVE 

WERE  man's  soul  an  outcast  thing, 
Every  thought  a  raven  wing 
Resting  not  on  roof  or  hill,  — 
Love  would  overtake  it  still. 

For  I  know  one  strong  desire 
Binds  the  stars  in  chains  of  fire, 
Thrills  this  universal  frame 
With  the  magic  of  its  name  : 

Love  !     Who  journeys  to  the  shore 
Where  its  power  is  felt  no  more  ? 
Hell,  though  it  were  walled  with  brass, 
Lifts  its  gates  to  let  Love  pass. 
68 


IN  MEMORIAM 


A  THOUGHT  OF  HEAVEN 

OF  all  the  thoughts  of  heaven  the  sweet 
est  this,  I  say  — 
To  have  sometime,  somewhere,  the  things 

on  earth  foregone, 
The  precious   gifts  of  God  we  blindly   put 

away, 

The  days  whose  fleeting  light  was  wasted 
at  the  dawn. 

The    things  we    might    have  done,  to    do, 

sometime,  somewhere, 
Our    best,   our  truest  selves  in  that    new 

life  to  be  — 
Oh  !  that  were  sweetest  heav'n,  I  think,  or 

here,  or  there, 

Enough  for  sons  of  God,  enough  for  you 
and  me  ! 


IN    MEMORIAM 

SHE  was  too  good  for  chiselled  praise, 
That  time  overspreads  with  moss. 
On  stone  as  spotless  as  her  days 
Carve  but  the  holy  cross. 


69 


THE    HEART    OF    LIFE 

THE    TRIBUTE    OF    SILENCE 

A  POET  read  his  verses,  and  of  two 
Who    listened,    one    spake  naught  but 

open  praise  ; 

The  other  held  his  peace,  but  all  his  face 
Was  brightened  by  the  inner  joy  he  knew. 

Two    friends,   long   absent,   met  j   and    one 

had  borne 

The  awful  stroke  and  scathe  of  blind 
ing  loss. 
Hand  fell  in  hand  ;    so  knit  they  like 

a  cross  ; 

With  no  word  uttered,   heart  to  heart  was 
sworn. 

A  mother  looked  into  her  baby's  eyes, 

As  blue  as  heav'n  and  deep  as  nether  sea. 
By    what   dim    prescience,    spirit-wise, 
knew  she 

Such  soul's  exchanges  never  more  would  rise  ? 

Oh  deep  is  silence  — deep  as  human  souls, 
Aye,  deep  as  life,  beyond  all  lead  and 

line  } 
And  words  are  but  the   broken  shells 

that  shine 

Along  the  shore  by  which  the  ocean  rolls. 
70 


THE  FIRST  EDITION  OF  THIS  BOOK  CONSISTS 
OF  FIVE  HUNDRED  COPIES  WITH  THIRTY- 
FIVE  ADDITIONAL  COPIES  ON  HAND-MADE 
PAPER  PRINTED  DURING  APRIL  1896  BY  THE 
ROCKWELL  AND  CHURCHILL  PRESS  OF  BOSTON 


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